


Wizeman's Favorite

by Entomolojest



Series: NiGHTS: Broken Shore Main Story/Oneshots [4]
Category: NiGHTS into Dreams, ナイツ 〜星降る夜の物語〜 | NiGHTS: Journey of Dreams (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eye Trauma, Hey fun fact Wizeman is AWFUL, It's relatively short but I feel like these warnings are important, Nightmaren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23241979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entomolojest/pseuds/Entomolojest
Summary: Nilihym always postures that she's Wizeman's favorite 1st Level to date, but what goes on behind the scenes?Early in her life, she began to have trouble maintaining the Machine. New, young and eager to please, Nilihym faces Wizeman's wrath during one of her reports.
Series: NiGHTS: Broken Shore Main Story/Oneshots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1655698
Kudos: 7





	Wizeman's Favorite

**Author's Note:**

> No editing we post directly after writing at 2:35 AM like REAL AUTHORS
> 
> Anyway this is before the main timeline but not far from it.

Time was irrelevant in the Nightmare, with little meaning other than cultural swaps, or Cycles in which Nightmaren could rest between hemispheres. Ageless, years were a foreign concept: All Nightmaren are "born" in a matured state, knowing their purpose the minute they took their first breath in Master Wizeman's presence. 

Nilihym was different. Failure after failure forced Wizeman to experiment and try a new formula for the perfect, obedient servant. This one would learn through experience, molded by Wizeman's own hands, and with a dash of modern complexity, he created The Machine and its host. 

The Machine was built around the new 1st Level, a compact spyglass that peered across the Dreamscape into the hearts and minds of Visitors. It gave Wizeman the time to mobilize and bolster his forces without sacrificing his scrutiny. For that, Nilihym was proud to serve her master. She was young by Nightmaren standards, existing for three human years after NiGHTS's second upheaval. 

After each session, Nilihym had to report to Master Wizeman, bearing news from minds far and wide. His personal grooming imprinted and cemented her loyalty. Knowing she was better than her siblings, important enough to be preened and praised, was more than enough stimulus for her work ethic. 

Monitors and mechanical innards hissed in the lair, flickering as Visitors awoke or Nilihym's attention was diverted. Grand as the Machine sounded in theory, its operation grated the psyche. She hung from a metal branch fixture by the wires, and swayed like a tire swing after a storm. Being suspended by her Persona, which was in turn embedded in her skull, strained her body and stretched it like soft clay. Her thin, shuddering, papery body wavered in the artificial breeze. It was hot. It was overwhelming. It hurt.

In earlier days, rocking in the air while the Machine booted was the highlight, all giggly and malicious; now every jolt to her ports forced a scream up her throat she desperately repressed. Master Wizeman wouldn't tolerate weakness or defects. That was her first lesson, her first memory: Reala's rehabilitation, a complete reset of the heart and soul while keeping the body intact. He had looked like a lifeless doll, cradled carelessly in Wizeman's hands. What happened next was their secret, and her warning: 

Don't disappoint Master Wizeman. 

She grinned at her private thought, a rare commodity when consuming all the information the Dreamscape had to offer. She had a lot to tell her Master. 

The pressure on her wires released, popping as all the screens went white in tandem. Their chorus of static wails mirrored the cry she wanted to release, but stoppered like wine before it could spill and stain her reputation. Her hand reached to twist the connectors, one after another, sliding herself free of its grasp.

Nilihym drifted over the rumbling console and steadily to the ground. There was no floor or ceiling, just extending patterns of pipage and electronics. Lairs in the Nightmare were easy to navigate, if you knew where to look. Jackle's had a tab to peel, always in an off-color patch; Reala's could be found by upturning a checkered board and jumping in the black, and Master Wizeman's... his lair came to you. 

The narrow hallway elongated into swirling Nightmare, the throne of Wizeman the Wicked. She'd seen him every Cycle since birth, but his size and grandeur never ceased to amaze her. She was molded after him, the powerful, feared, revered Wizeman. Her head pounded with pride and pain. Wizeman laid one of his hands flat in front of her. Nilihym was no larger than a segment of his index finger, and couldn't wrap her claws around it if she tried. 

She gingerly settled next to his eye, holding fast as they flew. The temperature dropped severely, like it was afraid of Wizeman's glare. Anyone would be-- except Nilihym. 

"What is your report?" Wizeman said, hinting impatience.

Nilihym stammered to catch up with herself. Speaking immediately after sessions left her scrambled, and she prayed he never noticed. "Master Wizeman, m-might I say it's an honor as always to use--" 

"Silence! I asked for your report, Nilihym." 

"Yes, Master Wizeman," Nilihym said. "The Visitors are as susceptible as always. I believe I've reached the quota, though for Jackle and Reala I can't say. Our second level legions have been taking care of the younger Visitors... M-Master Wizeman?" 

Three towering hands glowered at Nilihym. She shrank into the crook of his palm. 

"Why." 

"Why, Master?"

He suddenly pinched her Persona between two fingers and tore it from her face, along with her hat. Her vision went white. Her ears rang. Her delicate ports pulsed, tender from the hours on the Machine. She squeezed her six eyes shut, squishing the hot tears that haunted her. Wizeman didn't wait for her to recover. 

"You know exactly what I'm asking. Don't play me for a fool!" Wizeman barked. "When I ask you for a report, I expect a detailed list, not a sparse attempt at recollection. There's no room for 'I-believes', only absolutes. Did you make your quota or not?" 

Wizeman's fingers curled and trapped her in a cage of claws. Guilt mauled Nilihym, as she couldn't even look at her master with one of her eyes-- without her Persona, everything was too much, but it didn't compare to Wizeman's burden. He needed her, and she was failing him. He must've had a sour Cycle.

"... Yes, Master Wizeman. I did. B-Barely. The recent input increase has caused--"

"So you hide information from me to save your skin? You're withholding from me, Nilihym. Tell me. Look at me!"

Wizeman's eyes could bore a hole through stone. One of his palms arched and dug a hooked nail into Nilihym's neck. He forced her chin up, directly into his line of sight. Her pupils spasmed. They shared the same eyes, a drownable, deep hewn violet. She couldn't look at him. Not a single eye dared to meet him. She shut them involuntarily and wept. 

"What are you hiding?" Wizeman demanded. His nail bit under her lower left eye and forced it open. The dry, cool air struck like daggers. 

"M-Master, I-" Nilihym hiccuped. One flinch and he'd pop her eyeball like a balloon. "It was, was a poor choice of words! Re-recent input increases have caused, have caused mirror-like, mirror-like effects, Master. I-I it becomes hard to see, and I, I'll see it over and over until the heat gets too much, b-but I persevere!" 

His grip tightened. She couldn't breathe. 

"You persevere at the cost of the Machine. How much damage was done? How many dangers did you so helpfully ignore?" Wizeman said. He remained silent, listening to her pitiful sobs, then sighed loud enough to rattle the room. 

Nilihym was released. She fell into his open palm and braced against her elbows. He examined on her little Persona, dainty like a cheap, knockoff toy in his hands. 

"You burnt it, too," he added. "I'm most disappointed in you." 

Nilihym winced. "My apologies, Master Wizeman. I-I will-"

"No, you won't. You will do as I say." 

"Yes, Master Wizeman." 

"Good. Your work is vital to my reign, Nilihym. I cannot risk you ruining it with feeble efforts of self preservation. Input levels will remain where they are until you get used to them." 

The exchange was met with deafening silence. Nilihym nodded, wiping her tears. Wizeman, with two hands, held her Persona like delicate china. He hooked the wires into Nilihym's ports, like a parent dressing their child, and laced the strap over her head.

These moments made their confrontations worth it; to be crowned by Wizeman himself with the greatest honor a Nightmaren could bare. He lingered on the strap as her digital pupil came into view, staring at him, glowing against the dark. Before she could lean into his touch, Wizeman pulled away. 

"Return to your lair and prepare for your next Cycle at once." 

Nilihym smiled meekly. 

"Yes, Master Wizeman."


End file.
